Amoral
by RogueMoon
Summary: Post-Antartica: Remy has returned to the X-Men, but he no longer belongs there. Rogue has Joseph, the team doesn't trust him. Dreams that leave him aching push him into Sinister arms. Sinister/Remy. SLASH Don't like? Don't read. Been warned.
1. Descent

**Disclaimer:** Standard don't own nothing but my own imagination, etc, etc.

**Amoral**

A X-Men FanFiction

Written by RogueMoon

**::: :::**

It was wrong.

Held against the operating table, ankles and wrists in metal clamps. Power inhibitor secure around his neck. Head clamped and shaved for the surgery. Monitor wires stuck to his skin, over the lungs and heart.

No where to move.

No way to fight.

No anesthetic.

Cerebral feedback needed.

The snap of a sterile plastic glove as it was pulled over pale fingers. Eyes that were nothing more than a field of red looked down at him.

The hands, the gloved hands, ghosted over his skin. Checking once more to make sure everything was in ready. Leaving his skin burning it their wake.

He gulped down a breath to calm himself, red on black eyes shutting.

The lack of sight only made the touch burn more.

He shuddered, pulse pounding, every nerve too sensitive. The rubber covered fingers paused. Monitor beeping in time with his heart. Going faster.

Deep breath. Get control back.

The beeping slowed. The hand moved. The beeping increased.

A chuckle, "No need to be so nervous, LeBeau. Just as you are the best in your field, I am the best in mine."

"Not nervous." Not entirely a lie. He wasn't nervous about the surgery. He was nervous about the touch. He was nervous about how it made him burn.

The hand left him.

He opened his eyes. The doctor's face was inches from him. Filled his vision. Skin unnaturally white, hair as black as oil and just as slick, diamond of blood in the center of his forehead, artful soulpatch at the chin. His breath hitched. The beeping increased ten fold.

The doctor smiled, a shark given human form, "You are nervous." Confident, self assured, left no room for questioning.

The gloved hand came into view, rested lightly on his cheek, pulling on the skin under the eye, opening it further. Fields of blood examining him.

Breathing was so much harder. His mouth opening to gasp for air as he started to drown in the red.

More beeping. More machines making noise. All he could see was the red.

He smirked. Tried to say something witty. Defuse the situation. Was there a situation? He thought he said something dirty. Double entandre.

Another chuckle and the hand moved to cup his chin, thumb sliding lightly over his lower lip. Intense pools of crimson watching as his tongue flicked out, wetting the upper lip, grazing the rubber encased digit.

His eyes fluttered shut as the thumb pressed itself inside his mouth. Lips pulling on it, tongue licking it, feathery kisses and gentle sucking. He could barely taste the rubber now. It tasted like him.

"Interesting." Amusement as the finger left his mouth, trailed wetly down his chin to the top of the collar. A trail of fire.

He had no control. He couldn't move. Couldn't fight.

"I have never encountered such an... intense reaction to my work before, LeBeau. I do hope you'll forgive me my indulgence in studying it before we begin the surgery."

"What? For de sake of science?" He grinned and licked his lips. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

Another chuckle, "If you wish to see it that way. I'm going to ask you a few questions, do try to be honest." The hand moved from the collar past his chest and came to rest on his stomach. "How does that make you feel?"

The doctor was playing along. It could be fun. "Horny."

"So crude."

"Ya said ta be honest."

That rumbling chuckle and then warm air against his ear. The nip of teeth on skin, wetness of a tongue, "And this?"

He moaned.

"Good answer, LeBeau." Barely a whisper in his ear.

The gloved hand slid lower, pulling the thin sheet off his lower half, exposing him to the cool air that circulated through the facility. It was like ice to his overheated body.

A second hand, rubber encased and agile as only a surgeon's could be, trailed up the outside of one thigh. The first returning to his mouth and plunging inward, demanding. He obeyed the silent command, sucking, licking, wetting them.

They left him. His eyes opened. All he could see was the ceiling.

His legs were already spread, ankles cuffed to the outside of the table. The wet fingers slid lightly up the inside of his thighs to press against-

**::: :::**

He sat up in bed, sweating heavily, hard on aching between his legs. His breath hissed out of him as he pressed his hands to his face. Tried to remember what he was dreaming about. What had left him like this.

The dreams were getting more vivid lately. More intensely sexual. But he still couldn't remember them upon waking. Only the feel of gloved hands upon him. Rubber gloved for some reason. But gloved.

Must have been about Rogue then. She was the only one who would wear gloves in his dreams, right? Rubber or not.

Doctor.

The word floated into his mind and cursed himself for suddenly envisioning her in one of those naughty nurse outfits, complete with rubber doctor gloves, telling him to bend over and get ready for his shot.

He needed relief. It was Three AM according to his clock. A shower and his own hand would do. Too late to go out and find a one night stand and still get back to the institute in time for the early morning DR session.

Not for the first time, he wished Rogue would let him show her all the ways around her mutation. Get the deed over and done with so he could move on. Stop thinking about her so damn much.

The water was ice cold when it hit him. A gasp born of shock escaping before he could clamp his mouth shut. His hand found its way to his loins, jerking at himself wildly as visions of a buxom nurse giving him a check up danced through his mind. Oddly faceless. But gloved hands, so strong, so sure, pulled at him. Bringing him to the point of release.

The water washed away the evidence of his perversion. He grinned at the thought, laughed bitterly to himself.

He would probably never get the chance to show Rogue what she was missing. She had pushed him away so much no matter how hard he tried. And now? After what happened in Antarctica? She had Joseph. Her precious Magnus. Man didn't even know who he was, how could he love her? How could she love him?

He turned off the shower and left the bathroom, letting himself drip dry as he moved to the kitchen. The boat house was his now. Separate from them. Separate from her and her amnesiatic toy.

They didn't trust him.

He gave up everything he had been, turned over a heroic leaf for their sake, did his best to atone. His actions, his decisions, were nothing in comparison to ghosts of some of the others. Others who were given trust, given second and third and fifth chances without question.

He had to fight for his second chance with them. He had to fight to regain the trust he thought they once had in him. He had to fight to get the boathouse. A room.

And all he could dream about at night was fucking Rogue. Playing 'doctor' with her.

He was pathetic.

He should leave.

He didn't want to. It would mean admitting that he was alone again. He hated being alone. Cast out. At least while he lived on the grounds he could pretend he hadn't been exiled in Antarctica Pretend that keeping an eye on him to make sure he didn't betray them with other atrocity wasn't the only reason he was allowed to stay.

He had never betrayed them. Never. He hadn't even known them when the massacre happened.

But not volunteering every detail of one's life, every shame and secret and sinful action, every regret he ever had apparently counted as betraying them.

He was the best thief in the world. That used to make him proud.

Then he met them. He met them and they told him he could be more, could be a hero, could be a good person, could atone. And he believed them. Gave them his trust.

He needed a drink. Bourbon slid down his throat. Half a bottle. He should stop. Had an early morning DR session. Couldn't be drunk on the job, it wasn't something a person you could trust would do.

But they didn't trust him.

He downed the rest of the bottle.

**::: :::**

"This is the sixth time this month, Gambit," Scott said in that stern, concerned father voice that he must have learned from Xavier. Seeing as how Scott had never actually raised any of the children he had running around in the world. They were all raised up in other time lines or dimensions. "If this behavior continues I'm going to have to take you off the active roster. For the safety of everyone."

Remy snorted, rolling his eyes like a petulant child, "Whatever, Scooter."

Cyclops' hands became fists for a moment as he held his anger in check, calming himself before continuing in a more pleasant voice designed to make others feel comfortable, safe. "Something is obviously the matter, Gambit. I would be happy to help you with whatever it is."

The Cajun stood and shoved his hands in his pockets, heading to the door, "Its nothing."

"Gambit-"

"My name is Remy!" he shouted back, eyes flaring with power barely controlled. "Remy Entinne LeBeau. Maybe you should start there."

He slammed the door behind him and stalked out of the mansion. He needed a smoke.

**::: :::**

The roof of the boathouse wasn't as great a spot to sit and think as the roof of the mansion. It didn't feel calming. It didn't feel like home.

Nothing felt like home except the dreams. The rubber gloves on his body. Playing doctor.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and laughed at himself. It would figure that sex felt like home to him. Kinky sex no less.

How could he have let that woman steal his heart so completely?

It was the same as the Guild. He had trusted them too. When they took him in, gave him a family. He gave them his heart. Gave another woman his heart and hand in marriage. They broke it too. Exiled him.

How could something so torn and shattered still feel so much happiness (affection, desire, lust) for that which destroyed it?

What had happened to the Prince of Thieves? Jean-Luc LeBeau's favorite son? The pride of the Guild? Le Diable Blanc? The best of the best? The man who used to take any commission, even the one's the Guild wouldn't touch? The brilliant, reckless, amoral master thief?

When had he died and his body been taken over by this broken, too sentimental creature?

Sinister.

The name rang in his head. An epiphany. The job that broke him. The massacre.

Gloved hands over his body.

He shuddered in disgust as he reacted to the thought. Naughty Nurse Rogue appearing in his mind at the most inopportune time. Nausea as the vision wavered, became the man he loathed. Gloved hands. Operating tables. Restraints. Blood red pools that stretched into eternity.

His erection strained against his jeans. He nearly threw up.

**::: :::**

Jean was the next to approach him. His mind, normally so well guarded, was calling out. Screaming at itself. Chaotic thoughts she could make no sense of. Pain, confusion, disgust and a trace of lust beneath it all. "Gambit?"

He was doing the dishes after dinner, delaying the time when he would have to return to the boat house. He smiled at her, like nothing was wrong. The smile didn't reach his eyes. "_Oui, m'dame_ Summers? Dere somet'ing I c'n do for ya?" So pleasant, so polite. He was trying so hard.

"Just wanted to make sure you were alright," she began cautiously. His mind slammed shut and his smiled widened. It still didn't reach his eyes. Pain in those eyes.

"What make you t'ink anyt'ing is wrong, _petite_?"

"You've been coming to the morning sessions drunk..."

He waved her off and turned back to the sink, "Dat's over wit'. Fearless leader had a talk wit' me and I won' be doin' dat again."

"But why did you do it in the first place." She shouldn't have asked. She had to. He hurt so much.

He shrugged like it didn't matter, "Jus' made a bad decision a few times is all. Everyone have a bad day every now an' den."

"If you want to talk about it..."

"Yeah, yeah. Scotty say dat too. I know where ta find ya."

She moved up behind him, rested a hand on his arm, squeezed gently. He looked at her, caution in his eyes, so well hidden by his raunchy grin she almost didn't see it.

"You keep touchin' me dat way, people, dey goin' talk."

She smiled. An honest one, "I'm also here if you just want to spend time with someone. Not be alone. I'm only a thought away."

She turned from him, hand sliding down, left the kitchen to the sound of dishes once more being moved under soapy water.

_...Thank you..._

She smiled at his voice, relief for his sake. _Anytime._

**::: :::**

He was standing in the foyer of the client's house. Dr. Nathaniel Essex. He had failed to return the journal.

They stood alone. He had a nagging feeling that his father should have been there. But it was dismissed quickly as Essex spoke.

"I see. Then it seems our dealings are at an end for now, Mr. LeBeau. You'll still receive compensation for your troubles, of course. You, my boy, you did a fine job." Hand held out to shake his.

Remy was a bit confused as he took it, the grip strong and confident, overpowering his own, weaker one, "_Merci, m'sieur_. You ain't angry dat I didn't deliver?"

That rumbling chuckle, so self assured and pleased, "Hardly, child. My old diaries may be full of invaluable information... but there are other ways that research can be recovered."

He was being led to the door now. He couldn't take his eyes off the taller, older man. Such fine aristocratic features. Strong jaw covered with a goatee the color of night. Not a single gray hair on his head. Eyebrows arching elegantly.

His hand was on Remy's shoulder, eyes gazing down. Warmth in them. Like a father would look at a son who had made him proud, "I am far less interested in the past than I am the future. And all signs point to your future being a bright one, Remy."

They were at the door now. The thief standing there nervously, unable to look away from that face. The hand still resting on his shoulder.

Essex leaned down, his face paled and a blood red diamond bloomed on his forehead. His eyes became pools of crimson light. The hand moved from his shoulder to his chin, encased in rubber.

Remy smiled and leaned forward, capturing the black lips before him in a kiss that would make any other person weak in the knees. Nervous no more.

The hand moved, rubber sliding to cradle the back of his neck, lace through shaggy brown locks.

Remy was taller now. Nearly the same height as Essex. Body older, filled out. More experienced as he pressed himself against the doctor, shivering at the feel of the gloved hands tracing over his body.

**::: :::**

He woke up panting, hand already on his dick, rubbing and pulling. He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop thinking of the other man. The monster. Rubber gloves and operating tables. He remembered his dream and he felt like throwing up. He was still hard, still needed to finish.

He was disgusted at himself as he came, whispering the devil's name like a lover. He couldn't stop himself.

He had to stop this. It wasn't him. He wasn't like this. He didn't like men like that.

Except the doctor.

The thought needled at his mind and he groaned as his body began to stir again. He needed a distraction. Needed to get out. Needed to get laid.

He checked the clock. A little after one in the morning. He could probably make it back in time for the DR session. But he didn't think he would if he left.

_...Jean..._

He called gently at first. Trying to be polite. Hoping she was awake. Wasn't busy. She didn't answer for several long minutes as he cleaned himself up. He called again, more forcefully. A bit more desperately than he intended.

She sounded groggy as her mind touched his. _...Remy? What time is it?_

_Little after one. I shouldn't have woken you._

_It's okay,_ she sounded more awake. _Where are you? You want me to come there?_

_Please._ Even to him it sounded like begging. Like a prayer to God for salvation. His hugged himself and collapsed to his knees, trying to hold it in.

_I'll be right there. _So soothing. Loving. Comforting.

He didn't know how long it took her. Didn't much care. Didn't notice the way the silk nightgown clung to her or the softness of the cotton robe that hung loosely over her frame. Didn't notice anything except the way her arms held him, cradled him, rocked him as he finally let himself cry.

His thoughts were chaos and he didn't hold them back. They flooded the air around them, dam burst by loneliness and heartache and confusion. She didn't try to sort them. Didn't look at them. Blocked her mind and extended the protection to the other telepaths nearby, ensuring they didn't wake from the unexpected tide. Giving him the privacy he needed as poured his heart and soul out in tears.

Her fingers ran gently through his hair and she started singing a lullaby. Soft and out of tune, but well intentioned.

He felt like he had a mother. His mother had abandoned him. Exiled him to a hospital, to be a ward of the state because she didn't want him.

Nobody wanted him. Nobody except him.

He shuttered, hands clenching in the fabric of her robe, head buried in her chest. A compromising position had it been under any other circumstance.

She kept singing, kept brushing his hair. The tears stopped long before the sobs, long before he exhausted himself to the point of unconsciousness. Still she sang, still she brushed his hair. She wrapped shields around his mind like a blanket. Protecting him from the others as they began to wake.

A chorus of birdsong announced the dawn.

Scott's mind brushed against her in puzzlement. She wasn't in bed when he got up.

Jean smiled to herself and sent back reassurance. Told him that she and Remy wouldn't be making it to the morning session, the meetings. Breakfast. Probably nothing all day. Make something up to tell the others. He didn't want to talk about it yet. Send some food over.

Worry for his teammate followed, but agreement and no further questioning was sent at the same time.

Jean sighed and lay her head on the top of Remy's, gently rocking him and holding him in a much needed safety net.

**::: :::**

The hands brushed through his hair. He was safe. He was loved. Strong arms held him. Gentle arms.

He opened his eyes and looked up, wanting to see fields of red smiling down at him. Heart aching when Jean's blue sapphires were there instead and feeling disgusted for it.

His eyes squeezed shut again and he held her tighter, pleading to her in a murmer, "Make dem go away."

"Make what go away, Remy?" Her voice was soft. Open. Unaccusing.

"De thoughts," his voice was raw. It hurt to speak. "De sinful ones no man should have."

Her head rested on his. She was still rocking him, still brushing his hair, "I'm not sure which ones those are, Remy. And I'm not sure how I can make them go away. Tell me how to help you."

His body shuddered, a strangled sob. He couldn't tell her. She'd think him a monster.

"Are they about what happened with the Morlocks?" No accusation.

"Yes." No. Partially. She would probably have bruises later, so tightly he clung.

"What happened, Remy? Tell me what happened. Show me if you want."

He lifted his head, cheeks splotchy and red from the tears before, eyes too dry to shed any now. He opened his mind and showed her.

Sinister with his rubber gloves. He shuddered and moved on before he lost himself in lustful visions that never happened.

The sewers. The dead body with its skull caved in. Creed laughing. Claws in his gut. Sarah. Running. He didn't know. He tried to atone. Tried so hard. Exiled. Always exiled. His heart breaking yet again. How could he still feel?

Jean's voice cut through the memories, the emotions. Centering him, giving him something to focus on. An island of shelter in a sea of chaos. He felt her pulling him into sleep. He didn't resist.

**::: :::**

Scott brought breakfast after the morning session. Annoyance prickled at Jean's mind when he found her on the floor, Remy's face against her chest. Her in her nightgown and a robe that left little to the imagination. Concern followed, the annoyance forgotten as he set the tray down, then knelt down next to the pair, getting a good look at the Cajun in her arms.

That was why she loved him, she thought idly. He could be jealous, but he had a heart of gold.

"How is he?" Scott asked, voice quiet so he wouldn't wake the man.

She sighed, pain in her voice, "He'll be fine. Eventually. He's emotionally vulnerable, Scott. In a way I never thought possible for him. He's been left alone, exiled and betrayed so much that his heart just can't take it anymore. Being left in Antarctica and coming back to find Rogue with Joseph... And then the way we've been treating him. Forcing him to live in the boathouse because Rogue refuses to let him live in the mansion."

"They said he betrayed us," Cyclops offered. Not in defense of their actions, but as an opening. A question asking for more. "That he was a part of the massacre."

"Oh, Scott," another sigh, frustration. "How could he betray us when he hadn't even met us? Even if he had been a part of it..."

"He wasn't? They said he didn't deny being there during the trial."

"He was there, Scott. He was there and all he could save was a little girl named Sarah. Marrow."

Cyclops was quiet for a long time, settling down to sit more comfortably before speaking again, "How'd he know about it?"

"He led them there. But Scott," she continued before he could make a snap judgment, "He didn't know about what they planned. He thought it was a scouting detail. To avoid the Morlocks on the way to something else. When he found out, he tried to stop them. The Marauders... Sabertooth nearly gutted him."

"Why didn't he tell them that? Everyone there said he accepted guilt for it."

"He blames himself."

Remy shifted in her arms, groaning. Head moving, pressing further into her chest, bruising her. His body was shaking.

Jean started rocking him again, murmuring to Scott, "He's dreaming."

"A nightmare?"

"I don't know. The visions and emotions are confusing. It feels like half of him hates what ever is it, and the other half craves it. I was only able to see his memories of the massacre because he let me. But now, that static that clings to his mind is back. He has no control over it, and even with his mental shields down, I can't make much sense of anything that leaks out."

Gambit moaned, followed by a sob and he pushed her away, falling to his back and rolling over. Tucking into a fetal position, hands clutching his head. The shakes were more violent now.

Both Jean and Scott reached out for him, tried to comfort him.

He awoke, gasping a name.

Sinister.

**::: :::**

Tension in the mansion was at an all time high. Jean had started getting on the case of anyone who talked bad about Gambit in front of her since the day she spent with him in the boathouse. It had been a week. He was doing better. He said he was. Thanked her for being there. Acted better.

But now she was making waves, upsetting the status quo. Warren bore the brunt of her ire. Scott quietly backing her up, using the need for trust amongst teammates to his advantage in advocating treating Gambit like a person again.

Remy watched it all. They didn't think he saw what they did behind his back. How they tried to force everyone to trust him again. Tried to make the family whole again. How much pity they held for him when the others resisted. He pretended he didn't see it. Didn't know what they were doing.

It hurt too much to see their pity. He didn't want their pity.

Hurt too much to see how much the others hated him. Put up with him to make sure he didn't cause another massacre.

His thoughts drifted to Essex more often than not. The desire intense. He had stopped feeling nauseous at the idea. He was too tired with everything to be disgusted with himself. It wasn't physical attraction. It was the man within the body that pulled at him. Gloves and operating tables. Wrist clamps and scalpels. Trust. Acceptance.

It took trust to let someone do to him what Sinister had done. He had trusted the doctor. Trust was a drug to him. He had trusted the Guilds. Trusted Belladonna, Rogue, the X-Men. Given trust he should never have given. Kept giving. Had given to Jean a week before.

He was addicted to trusting. Wanted to be given trust in return. Acceptance.

He just wanted acceptance for who he was, faults and all. Jean was trying. But the X-Men wouldn't give it.

They divided themselves. Jean, Scott and him all on one team. The others either on the sidelines or against him. Ororo... beautiful Stormy. She stood on the sidelines, hovering too close to the opposing side for him not to notice. She had stopped trying.

Rogue was against him without question, back turned. Never a second glance. Her precious Joseph hovering protectively over her, watching for Remy to make a move. To betray them all. Waiting for an excuse. Never gave him a chance. Poisoned before even meeting him.

Logan didn't get in the middle of it. He wasn't even on the sideline. He just acted like nothing was going on. Jubilee followed him.

Warren was the loudest opponent. Betsy just behind him, always trying to catch Gambit off guard, to look in his mind and confirm all the bad things she thought about him. Bobby rallying them.

Hank was like 'Ro. Not yet in it, but close enough for the allegiance to be had.

It was his fault. He was the one tearing the X-Men apart. They were all hurting and he was the knife keeping the wound open.

But he hesitated. Hesitated to leave. The School was no longer his home, but he had no where else to go to. Except to him, the monster. The devil. No where else but him and he didn't want to be alone anymore. Couldn't handle it.

He didn't want to hurt Jean and Scott. They were trying so hard. But it would be easier if everyone was opposed to him. The X-Men could be a family again.

His father always did say he was a romantic self-sacrificing fool.

**::: :::**

Leaving was easier than he thought it would be. He didn't have much. A duffel bag of clothes and a few possessions he cherished, his duster and his bike. No goodbyes. Not even a note.

Simply out the gate as dawn broke on a beautiful spring morning.

He thought he would have second thoughts. Feel like turning around as he got to the Salem Center city limits. Nothing of the sort.

Instead, he felt free.

Alive.

Like laughing. Really laughing. Nothing to tie him down. No regrets. No worries. Not even on how he would find Sinister. He already knew where to look. He took the highway west, laughing into the wind, weaving in and out of traffic. Reckless. Wild. Free.

**::: :::**

The theater was just as it had been when he found Rogue wandering its remains. He stood in the center of the destruction, cigarette hanging from his lips. Waiting.

He didn't have to wait long.

The tesseract portal shimmered open and Essex stepped through, looking mildly amused. Clearly interested in what Gambit had up his sleeve. One elegant eyebrow arched high in question, "LeBeau. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Remy wanted to kiss that smile off his lips, trace the eyebrows with his tongue, bury his fingers in that hair. He shrugged, his desire hidden under a well practiced mask, "I came to offer you a deal."

The interest spiked with just a hint of wariness in the way Sinister held himself. He had the doctor's full attention though, "What kind of deal?"  
"Lifetime contract."

The crimson pools narrowed. He could see desire in them, eagerness to have Gambit at his beck and call, tempered with just a bit of caution, "The terms?"

Now Remy smiled. A cruel, selfish smile, "My soul for your body."

Puzzlement.

Gambit licked his lips, stepped forward, flicking the cigarette away. He pressed his hands against Sinister's chest, fingers splayed. Laid his cards on the table, "Ya get me ta do whatever ya want whenever ya want, no questions asked. I get ya however I want, whenever I want. Conceding at times ya might have somet'ing important enough to keep ya from me. My soul. For your body." He pressed his hips into the other man, making his meaning perfectly, crudely clear.

The doctor signed his name with a bloody kiss.

**::: :::**

End

**AN:** This has been posted on other sites under my other name "Kanky" or "Kankywompous". Sometimes, RogueMoon is already taken on me.

Le sigh.


	2. Awakening

**Amoral**

A X-Men FanFiction

Written by RogueMoon (Kanky)

**::: :::**

Awakening

**::: :::**

It was right.

Held against the operating table, ankles and wrists in metal clamps. Every inch of skin exposed to the cool air. Head free to turn, lights dimmed low. Monitor wires stuck to his skin, over the lungs and heart.

No where to move.

No reason to fight.

No hesitation.

A fantasy come true.

The snap of a sterile plastic glove as it was pulled over pale fingers. Eyes that were nothing more than a field of red looked down at him.

The hands, the gloved hands, ghosted over his skin. Teasing his nipples and brushing lightly against the base of his erection. Leaving his skin burning it their wake.

He moaned out a long, low sigh of utter need, red on black eyes shutting.

The lack of sight only made the touch burn more.

He shuddered, pulse pounding, every nerve on fire. The rubber covered fingers kept moving. Monitor beeping in time with his heart. Going faster.

Another moan. Losing control.

The hand slowed, the beeping did too. The hand moved, the beeping increased.

A chuckle, soft baritone as the hands separated and moved over his chest, massaging him. Making his back arch and forcing another moan to escape his lips.

"So sensitive, LeBeau."

He shuddered again, feet trying to find purchase enough to push his hips toward the sound. Straps on his ankles making that impossible.

The hands left him. He groaned in frustration.

He opened his eyes. The doctor's face was inches from him. Filled his vision. Skin unnaturally white, hair as black as oil and just as slick, diamond of blood in the center of his forehead, artful soul-patch at the chin. His breath hitched. The beeping increased ten fold.

The doctor smiled, a shark given human form.

The gloved hand came into view, rested lightly on his cheek, cupped his chin, thumb sliding lightly over his lower lip. Intense pools of crimson watching as his tongue flicked out, grazing the rubber encased digit. Licking it like a man desperate for water, trying to suck it in. Demanding the right to taste it.

His eyes fluttered shut as the thumb conceded to his wishes and pressed itself inside his mouth. Lips pulling on it, tongue licking it, feathery kisses and gentle sucking. He couldn't taste the rubber now. It tasted like him and he wanted it as much as he wanted the hands on his body.

Another chuckle. Amusement as the finger left his mouth, trailed wetly down his chin to the base of his neck. A trail of fire.

He had no control. He couldn't move. Wouldn't fight.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions, do try to be honest," the doctor spoke quietly, script taken from his mind. The hand moved from his neck past his chest and came to rest on his stomach. "How does that make you feel?"

He liked it when the doctor played along. It was fun. "Horny."

"So crude."

"Ya said ta be honest."

That rumbling chuckle and then warm air against his ear. The nip of teeth on skin, wetness of a tongue, "And this?"

He moaned.

"Good answer, LeBeau." Barely a whisper in his ear.

The gloved hand slid lower, fingers playing in the the curly hair at the base of his erection, tugging gently at the skin. A second hand, rubber encased and agile as only a surgeon's could be, trailed up the outside of one thigh. The first returning to his mouth and plunging inward, demanding. He obeyed the silent command, sucking, licking, wetting them.

They left him. His eyes opened. All he could see was the ceiling.

His legs were already spread, ankles cuffed to the outside of the table. The wet fingers slid lightly up the inside of his thighs to press against his asshole, push inside. Make his hips buck in pain and pleasure as they scissored inside, lengthening and pressing against his prostrate. Shapeshifter taking advantage of his natural advantages.

The other hand finally gripped his cock, tugging upward, pressing down. Black lips he could only see in his mind pressing kisses down his chest, across his stomach, his tip wet with pre-cum. Tongue spreading it slowly, flicking down his length.

Pulling away to lean over his body and whisper with hot breath against his ear. Telling him how good he tasted before going back down. Back to his erection and taking it inside that mouth. Black lips and shark teeth that never seemed to scratch him. Only heat and suction. Pulling at him, bringing him to the brink and leaving him quivering for more. Silently begging for the promised release.

The doctor got on the table with him, hand moving slowly over him, teasing just enough to keep his interest in what was going on between his legs. The fingers in his ass slid out and he could hear the rubber glove snap as it was removed. The hand on his dick left long enough to pull a new one on before going back to its ministrations.

Those fields of red hovered in front of his face, naked chest pressed against naked chest. The baritone whisper against his neck, black lips feathering over the artery. Sharp teeth scraping over skin.

"Tell me what you want, LeBeau."

He lifted his hips as best he could, hard length encased in a rubber gloved hand pressing against the stomach over him, "I want you."

"You want me... what? You have to tell me properly, LeBeau."

He brought his lips against the pale temple, licked along the brow line presented to him, lingering over the diamond, murmuring against it, "I want you, maître."

It was in french, he couldn't bring himself to say it in English. He didn't know why, but it got intended reaction all the same. His master pressed their lips together and pushed inside him, rocking their hips together in time with the beeping of the machines. Rhythm kept with his heartbeat as they bucked and thrust against and inside each other. The clamps on his ankles making the most pleasurable angle difficult to keep. A challenge his master enjoyed meeting.

The doctor wasn't even upset when they both reached the point that made the room decidedly not sterile for several hours afterwards.

**::: :::**

He leaned against the wall, heavy lidded eyes watching Sinister as he worked, a hard on forming between his legs as those rubber gloved hands so clinically cleaned the wound the scalpel had created. He licked his lips and shuffled his cards, mostly paying attention to the orders he was receiving, the rest of him thinking back to what they had done on that very same table only the day before.

His master was frowning at him, pausing in his speech as the line of his thoughts floated through the mental air of the room, no effort put to stop them. Sinister cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow at him, received a smirk and a wink, but the thoughts were corralled and the doctor was able to continue.

Xavier had disbanded the X-Men and while his master was curious as to why, he wasn't going to let this opportunity pass him by just to investigate further. He wanted Cyclops and Jean brought to him. He needed them relatively unharmed and unconscious so he could harvest a new batch of genetic material from them. Secondary targets consisted of Storm and Colossus.

Gambit was to do this on his own. He could find his way into their confidence easily, Sinister would give him additional mental shielding for the task, just in case. His master was not yet ready for the X-Men to know of his new affiliations.

His master wanted to test him. Sinister never said that, but the intentions behind the assignments he had been given since making the contract were clear. The doctor was keeping his end of the bargain, but Gambit was still a wild card and not to be trusted completely. Not yet.

He was upset about that, but this mistrust, was at least, understandable. Gambit didn't exactly have a track record for responding well to the missions he was given by Sinister in the past. He expected to be given the orders to lead another massacre any day now. He wasn't sure he was ready for it and perhaps the doctor knew that.

The missions so far were leading up to the final test. If he passed, he would have the complete trust of his chosen master. He had the complete acceptance. Never had to work for that. Now he just had to prove he wasn't going to back out when it was important.

The Marauders didn't trust him, but that was their nature and they didn't matter. Only Sinister did. They received other orders.

He wanted them to know about his position. To know Sinister's body belonged to him. He wanted to go over to the doctor and wrap his arms around him, run his hands over that chest and fuck him long and hard over the body he was torturing or examining or whatever he was doing to the poor soul while the Marauders watched in horror. He licked his lips as he let that picture drift through the mental ether to his master and had the distinct pleasure of seeing the man pause in his speech, his actions. Then turn ever so slowly to face him, both eyebrows raised and head tilted with a smirk that hovered half between annoyance and amusement. The gloved hands lifted and snapped the rubber against the skin, blood coating the fingers of the thin green plastic. A promise.

Sabertooth's nostrils flared and he snorted, sniffing the air and looking nervously between Sinister and Gambit. The Cajun chuckled and turned his head to meet the feral mutants' eyes. He licked his lips again and tilted his head back against the steel wall, eyes half lidded and letting his lust feed his arousal. His scent.

Creed's eyes widened and he stepped back, looking over at Sinister once more, only to find their master back at his task and continuing with his words as if there had been no interruption. Gambit skipped down the steps and out the door while the others got the rest of their assignments, Sabertooth's eyes following him out in confusion.

His fantasy could wait until he got his job done.

**::: :::**

"Remy!" Jean looked at him with a mixed expression of shock and joy as she answered the door. She pushed the door all the way open and flung her arms around his neck with a laugh, "Where have you been? You left all of a sudden and even Cerebro couldn't track you properly. First you were in Seattle, then you were in Madripoor then somehow in Scotland! You didn't even say goodbye! I should be so mad at you!"

He grinned, a genuine one, he was happy to see her again. She had tried. So he wrapped his arms around her and joked, "You keep touchin' me dis way, people, dey goin' talk."

"Let them talk!" she laughed back and pulled away, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside the house. "Scott's at the store. How did you find us?"

"Heard Chuckles broke ya up, so I asked around and about de only place ya two would go after gettin' kicked out was ya parent's or Alaska. Ya weren't at ya parents, so Alaska it was," he replied honestly. No need to lie yet and she hadn't seemed to notice that he didn't answer her earlier questions. He backed away and took her hand in his, lifting it to his lips before presenting a small gift box with his other hand. "Ya can't open dat 'til Scooter gets back. Its for de both o' ya."

She laughed and pushed him towards the couch, ever the mothering type, "Take your coat off! You're staying for dinner aren't you?"

"Only if I can cook it," he muttered just loud enough for her to hear and let her respond with a slap to the back of his head.

"My cooking is just fine and you know it."

"Oui, if ya want it bland an' wit'out any flavor."

She slapped his head again with a laugh and took his coat, which he had shrugged off, carrying it to the closet as he got comfortable on the couch. She wandered into the kitchen, calling back to him, "Want a drink?"

"Got a beer?" he called back as he kicked his feet up and pushed his boots off. No need to make this go any faster than it had to. She'd hate him soon enough.

**::: :::**

They were on their third six pack and she was laying drunkenly on his chest giggling at whatever black and white movie was on television when Scott walked in the door. Gambit had only had two of the beers, feeding the rest subtly to Jean with little pushes of his charm. She hadn't noticed anything and after the first four beers he didn't have to do anything except put a new can in her hand.

Scott didn't need to know that, so when Jean waved haphazardly to her husband, Remy did the same, mirroring her grin and the wobbly way her arm moved. They giggled in chorus and he whispered over loudly, "I think he sees us!"

"I think so too," she whispered back and attempted to stand, doing a fair job all things considered. She put a finger to her lip and sush'ed her husband before talking in a loud whisper to him, "Scott... Remy came for a visit... He made dinner... its spicy." This was, apparently, very funny to her as she fell backwards onto Gambit once more, giggling as she curled into a ball on his stomach. Remy snickered along with her lifting a can to his mouth and looking confused when it was empty.

Scott rolled his eyes and came over to help Jean stand up properly, frowning at Remy, but otherwise not upset.

Jean held tight to her husband and shrieked at him in excitement, "Remy brought a present! But he wouldn't let me open it!"

"Why not?" Scott asked, indulging her as he maneuvered her to the Lazy Boy.

"Because you weren't home! It's for both of us!" She clapped her hands and bounced in her seat as Remy sat up, a bit wobbly and nodding along.

"Oui... present... somewhere round here," he let his hands sweep wide, disjointedly, as if he really were as drunk as Jean. Scott didn't seem to think he was faking it as he moved items to the side and picked up the gift box that had fallen off the table.

"That's it!" Jean jumped up and grabbed it, twirling around and landing on the couch next to Remy. She leaned against him and held it in front of his face, "Can we open it now?"

Gambit stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth and slowly focused his eyes on the box before letting a big grin spread over his face, "Oui, ma chere!"

Jean attempted to open it, tugging ineffectually at the ribbons until Scott took it from her, "I'll open it. You just sit tight, okay?"

She clapped and grabbed Remy's arm, as eager as a child on Christmas.

The ribbon and tissue paper fell away and Scott lifted the lid. Inside was a small candle.

Remy giggled, "Its scented! Light it!"

Jean clapped again, "Yes! Let's light it!"

Scott shook his head, finally laughing as he found a pack of matches and lit the candle. The scent was heavy and pungent and rather disgusting. Jean's hand went to her mouth and she looked like she was about to retch.

Scott pinched his nose and glared at Remy, "You have horrible tastes."

Remy stood up, wobbling still and pointed at Scott, "Non! I have excellent taste! It's a votive!" He acted as if that declaration would make everything clear.

Jean passed out, falling on her side and onto the floor. Scott was nearly gagging now as he tried to stand and go to Jean, only to pass out over the coffee table.

Remy was sober and snuffed out the candle, slipping thin inhibitor collars around the necks of his friends. He really didn't want to hurt them, but it was better for the X-Men in the long run. Xavier would call them back eventually and he wouldn't be there to put a wedge between them.

He opened a window to let the fumes out. After a minute of the air clearing, he pulled the nasal blocks from his nose. They had made breathing hard, but kept him from passing out when the candle was lit. The tiny balls of spongy protection exploded as he flicked them away.

He tapped his watch and a tesseract appeared next to him. Sinister stepped through and looked over the two objects of his obsession while Gambit lit a cigarette, leaning against the couch. His master pulled out two syringes and in short order had fresh blood samples from them both. The doctor removed the collars and took them back with him as he left through the portal.

Gambit tossed his cigarette out the window, the pop of it exploding like a firecracker bringing a smile to his face before he closed the glass and went back to the couch. He plopped down and let himself fall bonelessly into whatever position came naturally. Then he let himself fall asleep. When the Summers woke up, so would he and they wouldn't be any wiser to what he had just put them through.

**::: :::**

He left their company the next day, apologizing profusely for picking such a horrible candle as a gift. He assured them the candle had been a joke. Playing on them being a proper, normal couple with a house and a white picket fence. He just didn't realize the candled smelled so badly. They believed him as he 'helped' dispose of it by tossing it as far as possible before having it explode midair.

Jean had cheered at the impromptu fireworks and even Scott had laughed at it before handing him a CD of boy bands that Jean liked and asking if he could discreetly get rid of it. Jean took the CD back before Remy could get his hands on it and the three of them spent the rest of the evening eating a proper Cajun meal and talking about what had happened since they last saw each other.

Gambit finally told them he had been staying with a friend since leaving the X-Men. He blushed when asked about the friend and let some of his arousal and more sexual thoughts rumble close to the edge of his shields where Jean was sure to pick them up, "Jus' an old friend from way back... Someone I can trust."

Jean stopped Scott when he tried to keep prying, thoughts passing back and forth and he got the message that this friend was the kind with benefits. The kind that made Remy happy like he hadn't been for a long time.

Scott stopped prying and they talked about other things.

"Joseph left. He and Rogue broke up and then he just kind of disappeared after a confrontation with Magneto," Jean said as she kicked her feet up and into Remy's lap, the rest of her legs laying across Scott's lap. The three were sharing the couch, she on one end, Remy on the other and Scott in the middle. Remy took the hint and started rubbing her feet while Scott leaned back and put on a football game.

Scooter lifted a beer and took a drink, "More cloning. Not sure who did this one on Magsy. Wasn't the usual suspect though, clone wasn't good enough to be Sinister's. Anyway, Rogue's been looking around for you."

"Not very hard..."

Scott shrugged, "Hard enough to drive the rest of us insane with her mood swings. First she hates you, then she's looking all over for you. Seriously, you did a number on her or something."

"She be de one dat did a number on me, homme," Remy replied, frowning as toenail polish floated over to him. He leaned forward over the feet and raised an eyebrow at Jean.

She grinned, "Think of it as payback for that candle you brought."

"Better you than me," Scott laughed.

Remy shook his head and took the polish, forehead crinkling, "Passion pink? Come on, at least pick somet'ing original. Ya should go wit' orange."

"I don't have orange. I want my toes pink," she replied and wiggled the little digits.

Scott leaned forward and got fresh beer from the table before leaning back again, "So anyway, yeah... Rogue's been looking for you."

"Don't care anymore, Scooter," Remy said deadpan, opening the bottle and beginning to carefully paint the toes in front of him. "Don't want or need her anymore. Got better."

Scott nodded and raised a beer to him, "As long as you're happy."

Gambit smiled, "Oui. More dan I ever been."

"You realize you're going to have to introduce us to this friend of yours eventually," Jean murmured, laying her head back against the armrest. "You keep talking about her like that-"

"It's a guy."

The silence in the room following that statement could have crushed Magneto. Scott turned his head to look at him slowly, and Jeans' jaw dropped.

Remy met their eyes and nodded, "Not joking, mes amis. I know. Hard ta believe. De man who can have any woman he wants fallin' fa some homme. But de world, it be a strange place." He shrugged and went back to painting the toes in his lap.

"So..." Scott said slowly, "You're gay now?"

"Looks like."

"Does that mean you've always been...?"

"Non. An' before ya ask, non, I ain't never check ya out. Dis homme... its not about him bein' a guy. I'm not attracted ta other men. Jus' him. Its..."

"Its because you trust him," Jean finished, blushing. "Sorry. Its... your mind was kind of screaming that. Couldn't get an image of him, but trust... Just this boundless depth of trust in him, like I trust Scott."

He nodded and smiled, "Oui."

Scott relaxed, "Well, okay then. Just as long as you aren't going to be hitting on all the men at the mansion now. It was bad enough when you were doing it to all the women."

"Speaking of women, how's my Stormy?"

"She's upset at you. You left without saying goodbye. We had rain for two weeks straight because of you."

"Sorry 'bout dat."

"You felt you had to leave, I understand that. You should probably call her or something. I really don't want to deal with the weather that will come when she finds out you visited us without saying hello to her."

"I'll take ya advice inta consideration, oh fearless leader. But ya should know, I ain't comin' back ta de X-Men. Not my place anymore, if it ever was."

Jean tossed a pillow at his head, "Don't talk like that. You're an X-Man as much as me or Scott."

Remy ducked the projectile and shook his head, "Nah. I'm not. It's okay though. I find a place for myself already."

"Is it with him?"

"My thoughts leakin' out again?"

"A little."

He laughed, "Oui. It be wit' him."

"Well, don't be a stranger. You're still our friend."

Remy finished the last toe and pushed her feet off, setting the closed bottle on the table. He leaned against the armrest and kicked his own legs up and lay them across Scott's lap to settle his feet on Jean's thighs, "I want fire engine red."

The rest of the night was filled with the laughter. He didn't have to be their enemy yet. It was a good night.

**::: :::**

His master was waiting for him when he returned. Fingers steepled in front of his chin as he lounged in his throne. The Marauders were absent. It was just the two of them. His master looked pleased. Already had the gloves on.

He licked his lips and let his hand trail idly over his chest as he approached. Just barely skirting the waistband of his pants, fingers slipping over the button and zipper, but not undoing them. He stopped when his knees bumped the edge of the seat between his masters' spread knees.

A single gloved hand reached out slowly and traced a line from his waist upwards. Fields of red, pulsing and burning into red and black eyes. Both sets hazy with desire.

He leaned forward, hands on the armrests to either side of his master. Lips capturing lips, tongues fighting for dominance of each others' mouth. Gloved hands lifting his shirt, dipping into his waistband and pulling him closer.

He knelt on the edge of the seat, his master's knees lifting. Legs wrapping around his hips, giving them both better purchase as those gloved hands unzipped his fly and wrapped around his quickly hardening erection. Lips never leaving the other.

He sat there, teetering on the edge of the seat, doing nothing but kiss his master while the doctor's hands worshiped him. Gripped him and tugged and sneak up under his shirt to tease his nipples. Moved up and down over him, faster and faster. Fingers spreading his pre-cum to make his hands slide more easily. Making him come with a muffled shout.

Sticky white seed spilling over his master's body. White on dark blue and blood red.

The gloved hands tucked him back into his pants. Zipped him up, pulled his shirt down. A tongue flicking over black lips bruised from constant friction. Fields of red that watched him as he licked the evidence off that blue body suit, off the red belt and diamond over his masters' heart.

Then he was standing, shuffling his cards and leaning against a wall. The gloves were pulled off and disposed of with a thought and a light touch of telekinesis. The Marauders began returning from their missions. Sabertooth was the first.

**::: :::**

Creed's nostrils flared as he entered, eyes darting around the room. Confusion evident as he tried to figure out where the smell of fresh sex was coming from. Sinister had never done anything like that, so far as he knew, in all the time he had served the man.

Gumbo was standing to one side, leaning against the wall and shuffling those damn cards. The sex smelled like him and was coming from the chair Sinister sat in. Had the Cajun actually jacked off on the boss's throne?

Creed found it hard to believe, but his nose didn't lie.

He grinned as he gave his report. He waited while the other Marauder's shuffled in and gave their own reports. Some had been successful, some had not. Creed didn't care about that. He cared about the fact that he now had blackmail on the Cajun.

Sinister was pleased with Gumbo and displeased with Sabertooth. Wolverine had gotten away from him yet again. But Creed now knew something that would get the Cajun in trouble with the boss. Sinister hated his things becoming unnecessarily unsanitary. And Gumbo jerking off in his chair was bound to piss him off more than Sabertooth failing to bring Wolverine in. It wasn't like he wouldn't have another opportunity to do that.

Once the others were done reporting and Sinister was about to dismiss them, Sabertooth stepped forward and eyed Gambit, "You makin' it a habit ta fuck off where ever you please, Gumbo?"

Getting him in trouble in front of the other Marauder's would be fun.

Sinister raised an eyebrow and looked at Creed with a mild expression while Gambit gave him an innocent look.

Sabertooth pointed at the Cajun, "He was jerkin' off in ya chair, boss. Recently. I can smell it."

Gambit laughed outright and Creed growled, flexing his claws. Gumbo wasn't supposed to be acting like that. Sabertooth looked to Sinister for orders, as did the others who shifted their stances, ready to attack Gambit as soon as their master told them too.

The doctor looked amused as he leaned forward in his chair and met Victor's eyes, "You are mistaken Mr. Creed. Gambit was doing nothing of the sort."

Sabertooth growled lower, not at all liking that Sinister was taking Gumbo's side without even questioning the man. The triumphant smile that Gambit gave Creed as he walked out was enough for Sabertooth to make a silent promise that the Cajun would be gutted over this as soon as he got the chance.

**::: :::**

End Awakening


End file.
